“Do you suppose the Seth Barrows told about there can be me?”
“Of course, my dear. Isn’t this your story just as you have repeated it to me?”
“But there isn’t anybody who’d leave me so much money as that, Aunt Hannah! There’s a big mistake somewhere.”
“Do you remember of ever hearing that you had an uncle in California?”
“Indeed I don’t. I thought Snip was all the relation I had in the world.”
“Why did the man in Jersey City allow you to live with him?”
“I don’t know. I had pretty good clothes then, an’ didn’t have to work, ’cause I was too small.”
“Well,” the little woman said with a sigh, as if the exertion of talking had wearied her, “I don’t pretend to be able to straighten out the snarl; but I’m certain you are the boy spoken of in the newspaper story, for it isn’t reasonable to suppose that two lads of the same age have lately run away from New York because of an advertisement. The money must be yours, my dear, and instead of being a homeless wanderer, you’re quite a wealthy gentleman.”
“I wouldn’t take the chances of goin’ to see about it,” Seth said thoughtfully, “’cause what we’ve read may be only a trap to catch me.”
“Now, don’t be too suspicious, my dear. I’m not countin’ on your going into that wicked city just yet. I’ve sent for Nathan Dean, an’ you may be sure he’ll get at the bottom of the matter, for he’s a master hand at such work.”